Of Cigarettes and Swamp Mud Eyes
by CaptainKrueger
Summary: Crackfic based off a joke. Not meant to be serious or be taken seriously. Bakura comes to Fiona Goode, but first she's going to give him a lesson in manners before she lets him get anywhere. Crackfic, crack pairing, crack all around. Rated T for language and sexual themes.


Two words. Two words were uttered—no, _growled_ from the doorway of her room, and were shortly followed by the click of her door being shut. Two eloquent words that informed her of how events were about to unfold. Coming from the mouth of a master of language and seduction were a variation of the two words that _any_ self-respecting woman wanted to hear: "Fuck Fiona."

Fiona took a long drag of her cigarette and closed her eyes as she calculated how much time what happened next would take from her day. She exhaled and opened her eyes at her leisure, and a smirk of superiority formed itself on her colored lips. "Now, now," she chastised, smirking up at the ceiling as if it were a co-conspirator.

Fiona turned herself around so she could face her sensitive suitor, and found herself about as impressed as she expected, which of course wasn't much at all. Before her stood a man with pure white hair, but he did not appear old. In fact, he seemed to be several decades her junior, but he sported the look of a dirty old man looking to get some, and yet he had the frame of a lithe twenty-something. Old, young, it didn't matter. He talked like a horny adolescent all the same. And while she coveted youth, she was not impressed with adolescence. Fiona may have bagged some young ones in her time, but she _did not_ lay boys.

"There's no need to be uncouth," Fiona said crisply, smashing the butt of her cigarette down into her ash tray while she held onto his gaze. His eyes, she noted while she slowly and deliberately ground the end of the cigarette into the glass tray, were brown, brown as the mud at the bottom of the swamp. Fiona twisted the cigarette in the opposite direction. Swamp mud mixed with blood, she decided. Definitely.

Said swamp mud eyes flickered as he read her dress-clad form like a map. Judging by the tightness in his pants—skinny jeans, of course—he liked what he saw. Fiona merely rolled her eyes. She was certain that he was someone whose type was the kind that walked and moved. And move she did.

Fiona strolled over a few paces from the window, removing some of the distance between them. He took it as an invitation. Her white-haired suitor grinned in anticipation as he skulked toward her, but Fiona flicked her hand up. An invisible wall sent him back a couple of feet. "Now," Fiona said, the picture of poise and calm while he stumbled back to regain his footing. "Not so close. Tell me, junior. What the hell are you doing here?"

"To fuck," was his articulate response. Brilliant orator, he was. She almost wanted to know the name of the young man who whispered such tender things, but she really didn't care.

A grin of disbelief grew on Fiona's face as a harsh scoff that mingled with a chuckle escaped her lips. "Straight to the point, aren't we?" she asked crisply, with a side of condescension. "Now, that won't do. Speak, man. Speak! Use your words. I, for one, will not involve myself with a knuckle dragger. So here's how it's going to work: you're going to drop the cave man act and _maybe _I'll consider your _tempting _offer because I do love a man who sneaks into my room."

She smirked expectantly, waiting for a more carefully crafted answer. His surprised expression melted away and was soon enough replaced with that unfaltering, shit eating smirk he had worn before she'd sent him backpedaling. "I'm going to break your hip," he growled while she grandly lowered herself into a chair. His eyes lit up when she crossed one pantyhose sheathed leg over the other. He walked closer to her, and she allowed it. "I'm going to rock your frail body so hard, you won't be able to walk right for a week."

He stopped in front of her and stooped so he could glare into her eyes while he gripped her chair's arm rests. She smiled knowingly at him while he whispered his promise. "You'll need a cane when I'm through with you."

Fiona blinked slowly twice while his hot breath grazed over her skin. He continued to smirk. He was so certain he was up to the task, wasn't he? With a flick of her wrist, she sent him flying back. "Now," she said throwing her hand down so that he knelt before her, "that's all well and good."

His smirk vanished as realization dawned in his brown eyes while he stared up at her. If he hadn't gotten it the first time, she was sure that he got it now. Fiona Goode was not a helpless old broad in a designer dress, and she aimed to remind him of that.

Fiona smiled impishly and slowly unhooked the leg that lay atop the other. She then lifted her foot and pressed her black ankle boot into his chest. "If you intend on doing all that, you first have to earn it," she instructed, shaking her finger admonishingly.

He grabbed the heel of her boot in one hand and grabbed onto the zipper with the other. Fiona nodded her permission. He slowly pulled the zipper down, not breaking eye contact, and she watched on, smirking in anticipation. He tossed her boot over his shoulder, then took off and tossed the other one.

"Good boy," Fiona purred while he slid his hands up her dress so he could roll her pantyhose off her legs. "Now get to work."

/

She had a sheet draped around her tastefully, for she was a lady, and he smiled smugly at her while she lit herself another cigarette. That white mess on top of his head that he called hair was in disarray, and he, propped up on an elbow, looked very pleased with himself. He thought that he'd made her dreams come true, didn't he? The poor sap.

Fiona put the cigarette to her lips and inhaled, closing her eyes as cigarette smoke filled her lungs. She still felt his gaze. Fiona's lids lazily slid open and she took her time moving her head so that she looked at him while she exhaled a cloud of smoke. "What?" she snapped. Did he want a goddamn medal or something?

"I didn't hurt you too badly, did I?" he leered, even when they both knew damn well that he didn't care about her well-being.

"Pfft!" Fiona scoffed. That smug little sneer of his dropped with her exclamation, and Fiona wished that she could take a picture so his shocked mug would be captured forever. She pressed her cig to her lips again and inhaled. Blowing smoke in his face, she added "I've had better."


End file.
